


Fugue

by engagemythrusters



Series: Six Pieces [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e13 Exit Wounds, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engagemythrusters/pseuds/engagemythrusters
Summary: It's a very rare thing for Jack to wake to an empty space of bed...
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: Six Pieces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697989
Comments: 9
Kudos: 122





	Fugue

**Author's Note:**

> Rooftop Sonata in C Major and Five Things About Ianto are related to this, though not required to read it.

It's a very rare thing for Jack to wake to an empty space of bed. Normally, there is a nice, warm, soft Ianto for him to cosy up next to. Jack absolutely loves that. Sure, Ianto's snoring is sort of loud and sort of obnoxious, but other than Jack's noise complaints, an asleep Ianto is something to behold. He's beautiful. And absolutely lovely to cuddle around. 

But there is no beautiful Ianto for Jack to cuddle tonight, and that concerns Jack. Ianto usually isn't up this late. Or up this early, depending on how one wants to view it. Jack sits up and listens for a moment. Occasionally, though not often, Ianto will get up for a water. Jack doesn't hear the tap running or Ianto's feet moving around the flat (he tends to move about when restless). When a few minutes tick by without sound, Jack starts to worry.

He gets out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom, but the door is wide open, and the lights are shut off, revealing that Ianto isn't there. He goes to the kitchen next, but that is also dark and devoid of a Ianto. So is the sitting room. Jack stands in the centre of it for a second, waiting patiently, as if Ianto will suddenly appear from thin air right in front of him. Obviously, he doesn't, and Jack starts to worry even more.

Where has Ianto gone? _Why_ has he gone? 

No, no, first things first. "Where" is more important than "why" at the moment, and Jack can ask Ianto about that later. But Jack has to find Ianto to ask him "why," so...

Okay. It's just gone one, and Ianto, who wakes up every two or so hours after he falls asleep, went to bed maybe an hour before midnight. So, by that rationale, Ianto can't have been up long, and so he can't have gone far by now. Though Jack's mental maths are deemed instantly useless by the sight of Ianto's keys still on the counter dividing the kitchen and sitting room. And also as he realises it doesn't matter how long he's been gone, because he hasn't left. Ianto isn't one for night walks or runs. Which means there's only one place Ianto could still be.

Jack doesn't know why he didn't think of it sooner. Possibly because Ianto had sworn he would quit ages ago, back after Jack last caught him up on the flat's roof.

He sighs and goes back to the bedroom to throw on some actual pyjamas. It's disgustingly cold outside. With that thought, he takes a moment to grab Ianto's slippers, knowing Ianto will be barefoot. He spots Ianto's dressing gown and nicks that, too.

The air is cold as Jack steps out onto the roof. The kind of cold that feels like a punch in the mouth, like cold water after mint. Jack takes a moment to brace himself against the chill; this isn't exactly his element. He hugs the dressing gown and slippers closer to his body, then starts to look for Ianto.

Ianto isn't hard to find. Clearly not, as the only other thing or person on top of this freezing cold roof. But he's also just... standing there. Usually he leans up right against the ledge, looking out into the darkness, but right now he's just facing away as he stands at the centre of the roof.

"Ianto?" Jack asks, voice thick and dead in the cold air.

Ianto doesn't turn around. Jack frowns and takes a step closer. 

"Ianto?" he tries again, but still Ianto doesn't have a response.

He closes the space between them in four long strides. Ianto doesn't move a muscle. Not until Jack reaches a hand out to him, and then he starts, whirling around on his heel to face Jack. Jack doesn't know what emotion is playing on his face, but it's... worrisome. 

"Sorry," Ianto says. Something's also off about his voice. "Didn't know you were... I thought..."

He shakes his head quickly and raises his cigarette to his lips, taking a long pull from it. Though he inhales more like a drowned man breaking above the waves, and his exhale is unsteady and uneven as the smoke curls out. He makes to take another drag, but Jack quickly snatches it from his fingers, dropping it to the ground and toeing it with a boot to kill it. Ianto doesn't even try to fight back; he just stands there and watches it happen, which is strange and worries Jack even more.

"I thought you'd quit," Jack says. 

Ianto shrugs, blinking.

"Where'd you even get that?" Jack asks. "I thought we'd emptied out your stash."

"I... just..." 

He cuts off again, this time with an aborted gesture to the roof behind him. Jack leans sideways, peering past him to see what he means. A pack of cigarettes lies just a few steps behind him. Jack frowns. Are those from the last time they were up here?

"Are you sure that's even safe?" Jack asks, incredulous.

Ianto doesn't say a word. Jack looks over to him and notes that he's staring just past Jack's head, eyes not really focused. His right leg is bouncing up and down, paced and anxious.

"Ianto?" Jack asks, his worry sinking into dread. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Ianto says nothing. He sniffs, still staring past Jack's head, then opens his mouth.

"I don't... it's..." He closes his mouth and shakes his head again. 

Jack watches him for a second more, noting Ianto's vacant eyes. There are tears soaking the bottom rims of Ianto's eyelids, and he sniffs again. Jack decides there's a bigger issue here than smoking and manages a "let's get you inside." Ianto doesn't even react to it. Jack sets the slippers down by Ianto's bare feet. Ianto doesn't move. 

"Come on," Jack says, as softly as he can, "feet in."

Jack tugs Ianto's bouncing right leg forward just a little, and Ianto begins to take some action. He slips his foot into the right shoe, then his other foot into the left. Jack stands again, throwing the dressing gown over Ianto's shoulders. Ianto's fingers, seemingly unconsciously, curl around the fabric and pull it closer to his body. Jack isn't sure if the trembling in Ianto's hands is from the cold or not.

"Let's get you inside," Jack repeats, and gently begins to usher Ianto off the roof.

Ianto is shaking beneath Jack's hands as they return to Ianto's flat. Jack is now almost certain that it's not the cold, though Ianto's still gripping the dressing gown tightly to him. Jack tightens his hold minutely on Ianto's bicep, a gentle squeeze as a reminder that all will be okay. Whatever "all" is in this situation, anyway. 

The flat is dark and still when Jack lets them back in, with only the lights of the street outside to illuminate the rooms. It almost feels dead. Empty. Even as they walk in, the mood is bleak and lifeless, desolate of emotion other than an unending feeling of escalation. Something is happening, and something _will_ happen, though Jack doesn't know _what_. Or how bad it will be.

Jack leads Ianto to the middle of the sitting room simply because Jack isn't sure what else to do. Ianto is still shaking, now violently so, and Jack wants to just wrap himself around Ianto until the tremors subside, but there's something missing from this whole thing that Jack can't quite pinpoint. This isn't the remnants of a nightmare, because that's not how that goes with Ianto. Ianto's angry and sad after his nightmares, not shaky and absent. 

"I thought you'd quit smoking," Jack reiterates. "We'd promised you were done. So what's with the sneaking up to the roof?"

"I know," Ianto says. "I know, I—it's... I just needed to get out, and—and they were there, and I wasn't thinking... it just happened."

His leg is back to bouncing and he's looking somewhere just left of Jack.

"Ianto? What's going on?" Jack asks.

When Ianto doesn't say anything, he cups a hand around Ianto's cheek and turns Ianto's face to him.

"Ianto, hey," he says, taking in those empty eyes. "What's wrong?" 

"I don't know what's real anymore," Ianto whispers.

Jack's heart skips an important beat. This is it, the escalation. Jack knows that, and it fills him with sheer fucking terror, shooting through his veins and right into his chest. Ianto's eyes are on Jack's now, dead and void and soaking in tears, and Jack has to take a mental step back, because... no. No, no no. Not Ianto.

"Okay," Jack says, trying to make his tone as level as possible. "Okay. Can you tell me what that means?"

"Nothing feels real anymore." Ianto's voice cracks.

"Why doesn't it feel real?"

"I don't know," Ianto says, small and lost. "It's just... feels like I'm not here. In the real world."

"And by 'real world' you mean..."

"Here," Ianto says. "Everywhere. I dunno. Not the Hub, 'cause the Hub is just work, and that's something to do. Something I'm doing. It's just Torchwood, but this is supposed to be real, and it doesn't feel like I'm part of it, and—"

"Woah, woah, woah," Jack says, stroking his hand gently over Ianto's cheek. "Slower, please."

Ianto sniffs and nods, then shakes his head, and above all keeps trembling. Jack steps closer and puts his other hand on Ianto's arm, rubbing it as Ianto tries to collect his scattered thoughts.

"It's like..." He still sounds far away. "I'm here. But the world is... somewhere else. And the world is supposed to be here, because this is my flat. This is real life. But I don't feel it. At Torchwood, it doesn't matter, because that's never felt real, but _home_ is supposed to feel real, isn't it? But it doesn't. It feels like it's supposed to be, only it isn't, because I'm in some bubble of... of unreality, and everything else is real... but I'm not. I'm not real, and I just don't know what I'm supposed to do, or—or feel, or—"

And then Ianto breaks down completely, and Jack instantly wraps himself around Ianto. Ianto grabs on tightly to Jack, burying his face in Jack's shoulder, and Jack just holds him in the way Ianto always seems to need after a nightmare. This clearly isn't a nightmare, whatever this... depression, or anxiety, or whatever is, but the rules should still apply. Ianto feels a gigantic hole in his chest and Jack needs to hold him tight to remind him there isn't. So, Jack does.

Honestly, Jack should have seen this coming. Not this specifically. He doesn't actually know what this is. Jack has his ideas, but that's not the point. He should have seen something bad on Ianto's horizon. Now that he thinks back to these past few months, it should have been obvious. Ianto's slight shift in diet. His lack of concentration, even more noticeable than usual. How easily he's been driven to distraction. How deathly quiet he's been in the Hub, how his moods have been up and down and all around. Is it really surprising, after Owen and Tosh?

And speaking of Owen, they'd never gotten around to having Ianto sit down with him and have that chat about medications that Jack had suggested the last time he'd caught Ianto smoking on the rooftop. Jack had meant to mention something to Owen about it, but then Owen had died (the first time), and it had been thrown aside and forgotten in the tumult following Owen's resurrection. Jack had been too busy with other things to remember it again later, and Ianto had either forgotten, too, or had purposefully kept it to himself. But, no matter the case, it had fallen to the wayside. And this is where it seemingly led to: breaking down in the sitting room at one fifteen in the morning. 

Ianto's tears finally come to a stop, though he trembles in Jack's hold for a little while longer before trying to pull himself up. Jack lets go, for the most part, still keeping his hands on Ianto's body.

"I don't know why you feel like this," Jack says solemnly, "but I think we both agree that's not what you're supposed to be feeling, right?"

Ianto gives a jerky nod.

"Okay. Tomorrow, I'm going to call Martha, and we're going to see if there's something that can be done about this. Alright?"

"I thought Martha was in New York," Ianto says harshly, voice unsteady from the crying.

"London now. Moved back after... the, um..." Possibly not a good idea to mention Daleks to Ianto just now. "But is that okay?"

Ianto shrugs, which is equally as twitchy as his nod. Jack knows that being vulnerable, especially around friends, is not something easy for Ianto (in fact, it's something almost impossible for Jack to convince him is important), but there seems to be an understanding at the moment that what Ianto is feeling is not something that should go on. 

"Good," Jack says. 

Ianto's leg is still bouncing, and he's still shaking, but Jack can see the exhaustion in him.

"Let's get you back to bed," Jack says, starting to lead him away again. 

Jack takes him to the bathroom so that Ianto can brush the nicotine from his teeth. Ianto doesn't bother turning the light on as Jack steers him in there; muscle memory finds the toothbrush and toothpaste. Jack stands behind him the entire time, a hand rubbing small circles on his back as a reminder that Jack's there, with him, making sure he isn't alone. Making sure that he feels loved and supported. 

Ianto spits and rinses, and after Jack walks him back to the bedroom. Jack has him wait by the side of the bed as Jack pulls back the covers for him, then he crawls into bed and curls into a loose foetal position as Jack tucks him in. Jack goes to his own side of the bed and buries himself under the covers, scooching as close to Ianto as physically possible. He slides an arm under Ianto and wraps the other over, enveloping him again in a lax embrace. Then he curls his top arm upwards to stroke his fingers through Ianto's hair.

They lie like that for a while, Ianto slowly ceasing his trembling and Jack gently trying to ease him into sleep. Once or twice, Ianto's eyes close, and Jack thinks that's it for the night, but then they peek back open and cling onto semi-consciousness for just a little while longer. Jack eventually takes it that Ianto needs a little more coaxing, and so he thinks back to their drive home tonight, to that Bach piece playing on the radio. Bach is... so-so in Jack's book, but at least he wasn't Mozart. God, Jack does _not_ like Mozart. And Ianto seems to like the piece, because after only a few bars of Jack's humming, he finally drifts off for good.

Jack stays awake for a while longer, watching Ianto sleep. Just to make sure that Ianto doesn't wake up again or have a nightmare. And, yes, a little bit for Jack's own ease of mind—he wants to know that Ianto is sleeping peacefully, unhindered by the problems of his conscious mind and unburdened by the weight he constantly feels on his shoulders. Ianto is never more beautiful than when he's free of all his inhibitions. Jack wishes, just for a moment, that Ianto could be as free awake as he is asleep. Wouldn't that be something? But Ianto is perfect, in all his flaws, the exact way he is, and Jack wouldn't change that for the world. Well, that's a lie; he would change it, just a little, if it meant Ianto could feel a bit less like he does now. He wants Ianto to feel okay, not awful. He can't fix it by himself, because there's no erasing Ianto's feelings _just like that_ , but he can call in Martha's help to make it better. Hopefully. God, Jack hopes so.

He begins to feel the deep pull of his own sleepiness, so he kisses Ianto's hair, savouring one last moment of this peace and beauty, then sinks down further into the bed, levelling himself out with Ianto. He settles in, presses his forehead against Ianto's, and lets sleep overtake him.

He dreams of Ianto.

**Author's Note:**

> :/  
> (While it is mentioned, Prelude and Fugue in C# Minor isn't truly representative of this fic, nor did it inspire it.)  
> Thank you for reading and have a nice night!


End file.
